


white casts and dried bones

by ProfMyrtle



Series: snapshots: the end album [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfMyrtle/pseuds/ProfMyrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As they stand before the precipice, soaked and exhausted, Max isn’t sure if it will ever be alright again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	white casts and dried bones

**Author's Note:**

> _I woke with a start,_  
>  _Crying bullets, beating heart_  
>  _To hear all God's creatures_  
>  _Roaring again_  
>  \- Andrew Bird, "Hole in the Ocean Floor"
> 
> If you haven't seen the endings, you should go do so now before reading further. 
> 
> I tried to keep things vague so it could fit most any playthrough, although there are some small biases to my own, haha. I originally had this as longer, but I felt like this is something that couldn't be easily hashed out in one day for Max and Chloe. I might continue with other one-shots about the aftermath of this ending, but we'll see. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Three things had been easy, in the moment.

Ripping up the photo, squeezing Chloe’s hand tight, and watching the storm devour Arcadia Bay had all been easy. They all felt distant, even Chloe’s presence, as if Max half-expected this choice, like all the others this day (or was it week? She wasn’t sure anymore. Her head hurts too much), to end with her being pulled away to a different reality.

But that didn’t happen. This wasn’t just a moment or another snapshot decision she was trapped in. This was something she had to live with for the rest of her life. The realization hits, like cracking thunder and rumbling a dark rhythm in her bones, and she fights the urge to double over from a sudden headache.

“Chloe.” Her voice is ragged, watery from too much crying. “I’m so sorry.”

Chloe doesn’t look at her, just gives Max’s hand a firm squeeze, unreadable. “Yeah.”

No assurance, no simple it’s okay or it’s alright. Because it isn’t, Max knows.

As they stand before the precipice, soaked and exhausted, Max isn’t sure if it will ever be alright again.

 

* * *

 

The only other survivor at first, aside from them, is Chloe’s truck.

It’s beat up enough that any damage done by the storm is of minimal notice, and the inside of the cab is dry, so that’s a definite plus. Of course, that only lasts in intervals briefly as the heavy rains turn the roads into mud mixed with quicksand, which forces Chloe to spin her wheels while Max gets out to push. It takes them at least two hours to finally touch concrete again, and Max desperately wishes she could just slip out of her muddied jeans.

Another part of Max, however, wishes they could stay stuck in the mud forever. She isn’t prepared to see Arcadia Bay, for this reality. The bodies, tossed aside, crushed and crumpled. The buildings have bites taken out of them, walls caved in, roofs ripped to distant skies.

Her breath can’t help but still as she notices where Chloe is taking them. It worsens her headache, but she keeps holding her breath until they finally stop near Two Whales, or what is left of it. Rescue teams are already on the scene, picking through rubble for survivors, and laying white sheets over the dead. It looks like it’s another freak snowfall for all the white on the ground. One of the rescuers makes gestures for them to go another way, although Chloe makes no move at all.

“Maybe,” Max struggles to speak, the lump in her throat sinking to her stomach. “Maybe they’re safe. Remember that family in Missouri on the news a couple of years ago? They escaped a tornado by staying in the walk-in freezer.” The words bubble out, her mind flickering with panic and trying to grasp something reasonable. It isn’t until she remembers the explosion she stopped in another timeline, that she stops trying to find excuses.

“Two Whales doesn’t make enough bank to afford a frozen bunker like that,” Chloe says, sounding oddly practical, even grounded. “I’m gonna go talk to them, assess the damage.”

They’re pointedly ignoring the increasingly annoyed rescuer by this point, but neither cares. “I can’t believe how calm you sound.”

Chloe grips the steering wheel, knuckles burning white. “I’m trying to reserve the grief for when I’m sure.” She lets go, and looks at Max for what feels like the first time in hours. “I may need for you to drive, depending. Know how to drive stick shift, hippie?” The attempt at lightheartedness is so forced and fragile, that Chloe’s voice breaks a little at the end.

“Yeah, I think so.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a place for survivors, whatever few there are, on the outskirts of town away from all the damage. That’s where they’re directed to go, but they don’t. Or at least, Max is the one deciding, as Chloe sits in the passenger seat, digging her nails into her scalp.

Max isn’t sure why, but she takes them to the beach. She’s relieved that the whales are gone, although she tries not to think too hard on it, nor on the empty space where Frank’s trailer was the other day.

Chloe’s already left the truck, kicking off her boots, settling in the sand. Max stays in the truck, at first out of respect to Chloe’s grief and uncertainty in how to help, but she gets a better reason when her cell phone starts buzzing. Amid the flurry of texts and missed calls from her parents, the final call of Nathan’s, she sees Kate has just texted her.

_Hey, I tried calling you to see if you’re alright. Was leaving the hospital with my parents when I heard about the crazy weather. Are you okay?_

A guardian angel is looking out for her named Kate Marsh. Max types out a reply, hesitating only when she thumbs over send. She still didn’t know if there was a good answer to if she was okay or not yet, so she chooses to gloss over things, tell a lie by omission.

_I’m okay, not hurt. Just kind of wet and shaken up. I am SO glad to hear from you. Are you safe? Have you heard from anyone else?_

Max holds her breath.

 _No_ , Kate replied back, the word stinging. _I’ve tried calling Alyssa and Stella, even Brooke, but no answers. You’re the first person to text me back._

Everything swirls, dizzying and carbonated in her stomach. She doesn’t want to think back to all the big and little ways she’s saved Alyssa, all in vain, just like saving the Two Whales from exploding is. She doesn’t want to think of how Brooke might have died, her dream of going to a drive-in dashed permanently. She doesn’t want to think how she didn’t even know Stella that well, but she remembers what she said in the nightmare, about an abusive household.

She doesn’t want to think about Joyce, dying in that explosion, when she’s always been so strong and invincible, a second mother.

She doesn’t want to think about Warren, and how maybe she should’ve been a better friend. Even Frank doesn’t deserve to die like that.

She doesn’t want to think about every life she’s ever touched, to think about how much she loves them, how much she helped them, only for them to be destroyed like that that. Like they didn’t even matter.

 _Max?_ Another text from Kate, but she can’t bring herself to answer. She closes her eyes, wanting to escape so badly.

“Guess you’re starting to learn that you can’t have a perfect life without consequences,” her own voice says, all judgment and scorn.

Max opens her eyes, and sees herself -- herself from the nightmare -- seated across from her in the Two Whales, just like before. Except that the only thing left are the booths. Everything else has been blown apart, leaving a clear open sky and a thousand people gathered both inside and outside the diner, staring, waiting.

“Not again.”

“‘Not again’ is right,” the other Max says, chin held high. “Never again can you go back on the fact that you let a whole town die for your precious Chloe. Well, not unless you rewind and leave behind another Max,” she adds, easily seeing how this occurs to Max. “You still have a lot of selfies, after all; I’m sure you wouldn’t mind going through that hell again.” A disgusted noise. “After all, it’s so easy when _you_ have the power.”

“You act like this is personal,” Max counters, trying to find ground in an argument. Anger is easier than grief or guilt. “You’re not even real, just something fucked up my subconscious dreamed up to torture me.” That’s right, she tells herself, now all she has do is just wake up.

“I _told_ you already, I’m just another Max you’ve left behind.”

“What does that even mean?”

The other Max shifts, so slight it’s barely noticeable. The thousand year hardness in her eyes softens, and her lips aren’t so tight anymore. “Chloe,” she says, in Max’s own worried and timid tone. “My powers might not last.” Then, she’s back to herself, aloof and angry and judging. “That’s what you said, and it’s more right than you think. Every mistake you rewound from, every fuck up you pressed reset on left behind a Max that _couldn’t_.”

Max’s headache is only a dull throb, probably a side effect of this nightmare self, but just thinking of the implications behind that sends her head swimming. “It’s not like I knew. I didn’t get a manual when I got this power.”

The other Max scoffs. “But you know now.” She places her hands, palms down, on the table and looks squarely at Max, but it also feels like she’s looking through her, too. “I can see the regret in your eyes, it’s making you sick. So why not just rewind? It’d be easier than living through this… or do you like the thought of Chloe being your bitch, forever obligated to stay with you because you let thousands of people die for her?”

“It’s not like that!” Max says, fists balling up. “I couldn’t- I’m never going to abandoned Chloe again.”

“So instead you abandoned everyone else?”

“No,” Max says, even as the question hits her like a rocky wave. “I’ve been through so much shit this day, jumping through time, trying to fix everything. But I couldn’t. Something went wrong, or everything was perfect and then the tornado hit. So I don’t know if going back to the beginning would have even fixed things, and I wasn’t about to test that out. Chloe’s not some sacrificial lamb, and neither was Arcadia Bay.” She’s shaking now, her insides feeling turbulent. She doesn’t even notice the snow falling on the booth now, just attributes it to another symptom of the nightmare. “This is the future I chose, not because I like it, but because- because I need to live with my choices, and I’ve chosen Chloe from the beginning. And that’s something I’d never go back on.”

The other Max says nothing, at first. She takes her hands off the table, places them in her lap, so lady-like and not at all Max-like. “Very well. We’ll see how long you’ll live up to that.”

In the nightmare, the snow turns to hail, although Max barely even feels the impact. The sky darkens, the wind howls, and a sudden wave washes over the other Max and everyone standing around them.

“Max?” Chloe’s voice suddenly breaks through, piercing like sunlight. Her grip on Max’s shoulder is tight enough to hurt a bit

Max blinks slowly, groggy from waking up. “Chloe? Sorry, I just… passed out.”

“No shit. You’ve gotta stop doing that. That’s twice today.”

“I know. I’ll try not to anymore,” Max says, finally noticing how red Chloe’s eyes are. Her beanie is gone, too, probably somewhere in the sand. She can see her blonde roots growing out. She looks so tired, suddenly older than yesterday. “Can we talk. Please?”

 

* * *

 

It’s less of a talk and more of thoughtful silence, until Max eventually says, “You can be mad at me, you know.”

Chloe’s fingers twitch, aching for a smoke. “Part of me is,” she says, although she sounds listless in spite of that statement. “I wish I could’ve convinced you to go back, let me die. I mean, it probably would’ve done my mom good to have the problem child gone. Let her have some peace.” Chloe inhales deeply and tries to exhale the tension building in her shoulders. She feels dry, like her insides are grit and sand, a desert.

“You know that’s not true. Your mom loved you, and she would never want you to die like that.” And, Max knows, Joyce would never forgive her if she knew that Max has the power to change that. No one would.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my mom to die like that.” The tears come again, just when Chloe thinks there can’t be any left. “I wish I could have talked to her one last time.” She covers her eyes, rubs away the tears before they fall.

Max doesn’t know what to say, what to do. She wants to touch Chloe, but doesn’t know if she’s forsaken that right in light of all the damage she’s done. “Chloe… I’m-”

“Please, let me finish, Max,” Chloe interrupts. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.” Another steadying breath. “Yes, I’m mad, but I know- I know I put you between a rock and a hard place. Letting me die, after everything you’ve done for me, I- I think I would have made the same choice, if I had the power and it was the choice of letting you or… Rachel die instead.

“But I don’t. I have to live with this now, I have to live with my mom dead, and probably my step… my step-father, too. I have to live with the fact that I’m really alone now, there’s no one left… well, except for an uncle on my dad’s side, I guess, but we’re so out of touch I’m not even sure how to find him.” Aaron, Chloe thinks, is her uncle’s name, but she isn’t sure.

“A detective like you should be able to track him down in no time,” Max offers, even if the touch of humor might be inappropriate.

“Me and the Internet, the worst team up.” Chloe laughs, in spite of herself. It sounds forced, however, and it feels wrong in her heart. “You’re probably right, although I think he lives all the way in Hillsboro, unless he moved.” Weeks, months ago, this would’ve been a dream. A big city, landlocked and away from Arcadia Bay. But now she can’t even muster up the energy to even imagine anything beyond this moment, nor anything beyond dull fury that echoed hollow in her head.

“Hillsboro,” Max says, thoughtfully. “That’s not too far for Portland, you know. Maybe I could we could go on that day trip we wanted.”

“Maybe, but let’s not get our hopes up. He might not want anything to do with me, or figure I can handle it, since I’m so fucking grown up and all,” Chloe scoffs, jaded heart still full of poor expectations and let downs.

“You still have me, though. I’m not leaving you ever again, Chloe. You could… stay with me, if worst comes to worst.” Max’s stomach flutters a little.

“I think the worst already has come, but thanks. I guess I can always count on you to save me.”

“I…” Her fingers dig into her jeans, picking and pulling at loose frayed threads. “I’ve actually decided not to use my powers anymore, no matter how much I dislike what happens. It’s too easy, and it’s- I know it’s a gift, but it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“Not even to save someone?”

Max thinks of Chloe, all of her, sprawled out on the ground. Brow forever frozen in anger and shock, fighting until the bitter end. But scared, too. Blood is everywhere, puncture wounds counting how many times she’s died this week. “Not even to save you,” Max says at last. “This week… I wouldn’t trade it for anything, and I think, back at the lighthouse, I was making the decision to live in a future with you, even if it’s only borrowed time.

“I’m not stupid. I know that there will come a time when you die, and it’ll be out of my hands. Maybe this storm isn’t the worst we’ve seen, maybe next week there’ll be a meteor or a solar storm. This power might have only been for me to try to make up five years of radio silence, but it can’t. And I felt like it was even more selfish of me to have that week, when you- you’d have nothing at all, not in the reality you died in.

“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to be grateful for that, thank me or whatever. Not that you would, but,” she’s babbling, her voice cracking, bursting with emotion. What halts her is Chloe suddenly enveloping her in a hug, strong and what she needs. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” Max hiccups, burying her face in Chloe’s jacket. “You should be the one crying on my shoulder.”

“It’s not mutually exclusive, Max,” Chloe says, giving a squeeze. “I think we both just need… time.” She groans as Max hiccups again, a hidden weak laugh. “Fuck, that sounds cliche.”

“It does, but I think you’re right.” She lets go of the embrace, wiping at her nose, sniffling. Her heart is still heavy, but less waterlogged than before. “I think we should go. Think you can drive?”

“Better than you can,” Chloe says, standing and helping Max up.

 


End file.
